


zeta

by krith



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dark Anthea, Dark Mycroft Holmes, F/M, Sexual Assault, Sexual Slavery, Switch Anthea, Top Mycroft Holmes, Torture, implied snuff, surgical nullification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27356197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krith/pseuds/krith
Summary: Please note that this work is incomplete and abandoned! I absolutely will not be finishing it. However, what exists is pretty substantial, and kind of interesting, so may be worth a look to some Mycroft admirers.Verrry dark. Do you see the three r's in very?Mycroft has an interesting way to dispose of errant security agents. His wife, Anthea, has come to appreciate his methods. This scene is mostly MH/OC, with Mythea around the edges.Originally written March 2015.
Relationships: Anthea/Mycroft Holmes, Mycroft Holmes/Original Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6
Collections: Krith's Mycroft/Anthea fic





	zeta

**Author's Note:**

> I will be posting some of the better of my old, abandoned Mycroft fics as part of a larger project about fanfiction that I'm working on. While I always appreciate comments, I also know the pain of an incomplete fic, so I want to be transparent that no amount of begging will get me to resume work on these fics. I hope their quantity and quality may partially make up for their incomplete-ness.

Mycroft stood in front of her with his hands deep in his pockets, looking her over carefully. 

! Zeta was arranged as he’d instructed, upright and spread-eagle on the St. Andrew’s cross that dominated the south side of the room. She’d been stretched out under considerable tension, and her muscles had clearly passed beyond quivering and burning and given out on her hours ago, so that all of her weight was now hanging from her wrists. The carefully designed cuffs with which she’d been secured would ensure that no nerve or ligament damage came of that, and her ankles were similarly tightly bound to the wide-set legs of the cross. 

She was gloriously nude, free of hair from her bald head all the way down her sleek body. Thanks to the virtues of non-consensual surgery, her labia had been removed, presenting a smooth cup over her mons, interrupted only by her fully exposed clitoral head. Its prepuce had been carefully carved away along with the rest of her flesh. With her feet fixed well beyond shoulder-width, he could see the shadow of her gaping, unprotected vagina at the apex of her thighs. 

They’d left her nothing at all in the way of concealment, and he could see the glistening on her mons and thighs that meant that she’d also been altered to stay lubricated. Her arse, too, if he knew his wife. He’d wean zeta off of the hormonal cocktail later, by which time he would not need it anymore. Her conditioning was going to be swift and brutal.

Finally there was her collar, a genuine technological work of art. From the front it appeared to be a solid steel ring that sat snugly at the base of her throat, but Mycroft knew that in the back, it was grafted directly into the column of her spine on each side instead of completing the circle. The graft was so solid that he could slip his fingers beneath the ring in the front and shake her by it and the junctures where her collar plugged into her backbone wouldn’t cause her any discomfort. Mycroft might be old-fashioned, but he  _ adored _ being one of the few sadists in the world who had access to this kind of cutting edge technology. 

Zeta was watching him take her in, guarded terror in her eyes. No, “Good evening, Mr. Holmes,” today, although she was ungagged. No, she understood her new place better than that now. Finally he looked into her face. Sure enough, her green eyes blazed with bright, helpless hatred. 

But she didn’t truly know hatred yet. He was going to teach her hatred.

“Go ahead,” he said, mildly. “You have something that you’d like to say to me. It’s best that we get it out of the way.”

Permission granted, the words were instantly upon her lips. “You know that all I need is one slip.”

He smiled thinly. For some reason, it was what almost all of the women said first. He supposed that they just wanted to make sure that he wasn’t underestimating them. “Yes, I realize this. With your abilities and training, you’d have a fifty-fifty chance of killing me within five seconds if you freed yourself. Far too good of odds.” He paused. “Which is why there won’t be a slip, obviously. You understand this intellectually, but it will take you some time to fully accept it.” His tones were nearly comforting, which was eerie under the circumstances. “Also, I will be able to tell the difference between when you feign that you’ve stopped looking for escape, and when you actually give up.”

“Eighty-twenty,” she snarled, correcting his odds. 

Mycroft felt another frission of pleasure. “Ahh. You think highly of your skills, then. Well, I’d be delighted to observe anything that would cause me to upgrade my estimate to match yours. You realize that this  _ is _ part of the fun for me, don’t you?”

Yes.  _ That _ always pissed them off. Agents of this caliber were used to their threats carrying weight, not titillation value. Flooded with adrenaline at her new owner’s presence, she was somehow managing to regain the tone in her limbs, supporting her own weight again as best she could. He knew that she hadn’t been fed in forty-eight hours, no water in twelve, which was how long she’d been suspended here. It was an impressive feat.

Mycroft decided that it was time to begin. 

“The only question of any genuine interest that remains regarding your short life, Zeta,” he said, “is how it will end. The remaining span that you have upon this planet will be spent helping me to discover the answer to that question, as I get to know you, inside and out, very intimately.”

She was paling compliantly. Mycroft smiled.

“The  _ length _ of that span is the only aspect of your life over which you retain any degree of control. If you would prefer to live longer, you will always attempt to keep me pleased. If you choose not to do this — and only one of your predecessors has opted for that difficult path — you should not expect to last for more than three months, which is how long it will take me to wring my preferred pleasures out of you to the point where you have no further utility to me. On the other hand, the longest-lived of your predecessors lasted over a year. Personally, I think that  _ you _ , zeta, could be the one to break his record, if you put your mind to it.”

Horror. Open horror. All of her training was out the window now. Mycroft liked to believe that she was better than this, that this was a result of hearing these words from  _ him _ .

He took a few steps closer to her, withdrawing one hand from his pocket and reaching out to stroke one of her swollen nipples. Both her nipples and her clit would remain painfully engorged at all times on the current cocktail being injected into her. She hissed in revolt at the contact, jerking away from him weakly. 

Mycroft didn’t mind. He rather appreciated it.

“I’m going to try something new, to break you in, something that I’ve chosen specially for you, Zeta. I hope that you feel flattered.” She was hyperventilating, on the verge of panic now that he was touching her, but there was nothing she could do about it in her severely restrained position as he continued. 

“I’m going to spend the next day torturing and, eventually, maiming your nipples in every way that I can think of that seems remotely amusing. I’m going to destroy all of the nerve endings slowly, with a carefully-timed sequence of small cauterizations, so that you have time to fully appreciate your ongoing, permanent loss of sensation.”

Mycroft was in her face now, and his voice dropped to a whisper as he tilted his head and watched her frantic eyes, his low voice the mockery of a lover’s. “Once I’m finally done playing with you, sometime tomorrow, I will force you to orgasm. Your orgasm will coincide with the removal of your ruined nipples and a final cauterization, fully nullifying your breasts for any pleasure that they might ever give you again.” A final pause, with a small, hopeful smile. “I think I have a good chance that this alone will break the fight out of you, right out of the gate.”

He could see it. She was still calculating. Of course she was still calculating. Right now, his words were merely a promise. But she was properly frightened, and that was good.

“And what about the removal of its clit?” Andrea’s voice floated across the playroom but did not surprise him… he’d registered the sounds of her keying open the door in the last few seconds. Mycroft stepped back from zeta, turning to enjoy the sight of his queen as she crossed the room. She had changed from her suit into a cream-colored silk robe, and he was pleased at how quickly she had learned to dismiss the humanity of his playthings.

“Funny you should ask, my dear,” Mycroft told her seriously. “I thought that I would offer that trophy to  _ you _ this time.”

She looked shocked. “Oh, Mycroft. Really?” She sounded genuinely touched. Then she stalled, a look of concern coming over her pretty features. “I—I’m so sorry to say it, my love, but honestly, I’m not sure if I’m actually… ready for that.”

Mycroft reached around her waist and pulled her snugly up against him, the silky length of her -- robe and skin -- stretched out along his bespoke suit. She gasped in pleasure, instantly tilting her head, offering either her mouth or her throat for his whim. 

“Don’t fret for a moment, darling,” he reassured her. “We’ll see how you feel when the time comes. You have plenty of time to think about it. She’ll need to keep her ability to orgasm for conditioning purposes for several months at least.” He opted to kiss lightly along Andrea’s jaw as he explained, feeling her shudder slightly at the casual tone in his voice.

It was the thing that made it safe enough for him to share this side of himself with her, to allow himself the indulgence at all. She loved it. It turned her on. He sought out her wrist behind her waist and grasped it tightly, pulling it up snugly into the small of her back. She exhaled again, melting against him as he nipped at her ear.

“Just imagine, my love, that she’s ready to break, and that taking away her orgasm is the exact thing that’s going to break her. Imagine her  _ begging you _ to help her, to help her let go of her need to fight me.”

Andrea was giving him a sultry look now, rocking her pelvis against the thigh of his trousers. He smirked to himself at the stains that were going to mar this suit by the time he removed it. Fortunately, he didn’t expect to ever wear it again, and had chosen it this morning with this in mind.

“If she begged me to help her…” Andrea breathed as he closed his teeth against the column of her throat and shook her lightly. She had a white knight complex, his wife. In fact, she was willing to do almost anything if she truly believed that it would help someone. Usually him. He opened his eyes, looking over his wife’s shoulder to see his new pet watching them dally together with terrible malice in her gaze. He grinned, which only further infuriated her.

Mycroft gently placed Andrea to the side, and she slipped away to arrange herself prettily in the heavy, bolted down chair. He stared at zeta a long moment, stretching his hands elaborately. 

“Might I make a request, my love?” Andrea asked quietly, after a moment of his consideration.

Mycroft spun a bit with a gallant gesture. “Of course. You know I always welcome your input.” It was true.

Andrea tilted her head, biting slightly at her lower lip. “Would you… I know it’s not normally your preference. But would you consider raping her first, so that I can watch before I retire for the night? It will give me pleasant images with which to lull myself to sleep while you’re up all night breaking in your new toy.” She didn’t sound jealous, just coy, and Mycroft found himself repressing his first sexual response of the evening, elicited by his long-term lover instead of the new pretty bound in front of him.

And people said you couldn’t keep the spark alive.

Mycroft considered her request. It was true, he often liked to give them a few hours or days in which to wonder if perhaps Mycroft’s interest was purely sadistic, and they were going to be spared any direct sexual indignities. It was lovely to shatter that final shred of hope, after fostering it carefully without ever promising it. Mycroft never lied to his pets. It undermined one’s ability to effectively threaten.

But Andrea looked so hopeful, and Mycroft preferred not to deny her when she made one of her rare requests. He turned back to zeta with a wry look on his face, and he was slightly surprised to see that she was finally giving in to real, full-fledged panic.

Mycroft paused, examining her reaction. She was flushed and sweating, shaking her head in frantic denial. He suddenly realized that she’d been counting on the pain to help her get through the early adjustments -- she may hate that she was a masochist, but she understood it -- and in a flash he realized that Andrea’s suggestion was sheer genius. 

She worked that way, sometimes. More intuitively, less analytically than he did, with these things, and yet occasionally she had strokes of insight that astounded him. Mycroft found himself suddenly eager to take his new pet.

He stepped over to the panel that controlled the cross, rotating it so that it lay parallel to the ground at table height. He also adjusted the angle of the arms, spreading her limbs further apart so that he would be able to seat himself comfortably inside of her when the time came. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife shiver as she sat in open fascination.

Mycroft positioned himself in the requisite location, taking a moment to examine the alterations to her vulva with a deep sense of fascination. When he glanced up to her face, he saw a wild, unhinged hatred, though she was still managing to hold her tongue even in her growing terror. He was watching her when she finally got herself together, taking a huge, gulping breath and going tense in her bonds for a long moment before she forced herself to relax. Mycroft patted her thigh approvingly. “Good girl. Now. No one showed you what I had them do to you, did they?”

She hesitated briefly. She was still weighing how to answer him, not instinctively giving him the truth. He would fix that. “No.”

“Would you like to see?” His expression was calm, satisfied. Her answer was of no real import, as he would do as he liked.

She hesitated again, but this time it was her weighing the honest answer, not the strategic one. “Yes,” she decided quickly.

So she preferred the known horror over the unknown horror. Most agents did. They were practical folks, survivors by nature. It was what made them into such high-quality victims.

Mycroft walked over to a bureau and picked up a large hand-mirror, silver gilt, a gift he’d given to Andrea years ago. He eyeballed the geometry as he approached her again and held the mirror in exactly the correct place for zeta to be able to observe what was left between her legs. Her expression was stony as she looked. Not particularly surprised; he thought that she must have sussed most of it out proprioceptively.

She had a hold of herself though; the moment of panic had passed, and her training had kicked back in. She should want to deny him what he wanted in any way she could afford to, but without compromising her status as attempting to please him, thus warranting a longer life, thus warranting more opportunities for him to finally make the one slip that would end this game of his forever. 

For now, that strategy should entail denying him satisfying reactions, and her impassivity was actually quite good now that she was under control again. He didn’t miss the minute tightening of the muscles at the outer corners of her eyes, however, and it made him tingle with pleasure.

“Lovely, isn’t it? Much lovelier than what you came equipped with.”

“You’re disturbed, Holmes.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, and he knew that she simply couldn’t hold them back. She also probably figured that his response to this would tell him something useful about his particular psychology.

Mycroft’s response was immediate; he lifted his free hand and brought the flat of his palm down against her exposed, engorged clit with all of the force that physics could provide at this angle. It was a resounding impact, and it drove the air from her lungs in a startled scream before she could contain it. Her legs convulsed inward protectively but were bound far too wide to be effective. She got her outward responses under control quickly but there wasn’t much she could do about her inability to breathe for a good ten seconds. Mycroft waited patiently until she managed to inhale and exhale hitch-free in sequence twice.

“Your name is zeta. You will respond to your name. You will not respond to any other name, except for whatever endearments Andrea or I come up with for you. You may address me as  _ sir _ . You may withhold address of me if you think that it proves something, but you may not address me as anything else.” He paused. “These are your first rules. There will be more, but you have an excellent memory. Infractions of your rules will be punished swiftly and severely every time. Do you understand?”

Impassive again. “Yes, sir.” That was the route that most of them chose at this point.

Mycroft waited a beat, then took a moment to walk back over to the bureau and discard Andrea’s mirror. He debated picking up a short-range implement of some sort, then opted -- as he usually preferred to, at first, while getting to know them -- for his bare hands again.

He then shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on the valet standing in the corner for exactly this purpose. He removed his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the very top button. He performed all of these motions not automatically, but with relish, with enjoyment. The rituals of the end to a long day.

She wasn’t watching him now, was focused off on a corner of the room. Deliberately dissociating. She had had a traumatic childhood -- so many of the agents had, were driven by the urge to be something better than whatever sordid horrors they’d grown up with. Wasn’t Mycroft himself driven by something similar? She’d developed the knack of dissociating under her own control quite early in her career. It was all in her dossier.

Mycroft thought that he could draw her back using honey this time. He situated himself between her thighs again, and this time he began to stroke a long finger along her slick, smooth mons. There were no visible scars, and he could feel her pubic bone right below the surface of her skin. It was wonderful work; he would have to remember to have Andrea give the surgeons a generous bonus.

“Do you know why you’re going to be allowed to retain the power of speech for a while? Not many of the others did, you know. I’m typically not interested in much that any of you has to say.”

She was stony again as he touched her, though her body was vibrating with the force of her suppressing her urge to jerk away from him. She truly was in excellent shape, given how much muscle control she’d gotten back with a bit of adrenaline even after the deprivations of the last two days.

He thought that she would hold out on answering him. Instead she looked him in the eye. “My advanced psychiatric training.” 

Mycroft smiled, pleased. “That’s correct, my dear.” He underlined his allusion to her fall, from the heights to which she had built herself -- scholar, expert, elite agent -- to his plaything, by slipping a finger into the unprotected channel of her vagina.

Her strained grunt of denial was lovely and kept the smile on his face. She’d been unconscious when they dilated and healed her, so she’d had no way to know how much they’d tightened her up. Sure enough, it was a snug fit for his single digit, just as he’d requested. Two would begin to stretch her.

He inserted a second finger, rotating them, and then squeezed in a third right away. Her eyes watered, but she otherwise managed to contain her reactions, merely staring at him flatly as he indulged in this particular pleasure of the ownership of another person’s body.

“You hold a PhD in forensic psychiatry with a specialization in psychopathy, known in the ICD-10 as antisocial personality disorder.” He stretched her with swift, practiced motions as he spoke, her spread thighs trembling against his hipbones. “You’re a highly trained field agent who won’t give up hope of escape and survival for a long while, which you’ve realized hinges on your ability to out-guess me psychologically. Me, a psychopath, the very creature which you have spent your entire career studying.”

She was still forcing herself to make eye contact with him. “Yes, sir.” Good. She didn’t see any point to denying what was obvious to them both.

Mycroft slipped his fingers free of her and began to unbutton his waistcoat. Andrea appeared in the corner of his vision and he handed it to her as he shrugged free of it, then slipped his braces down over his shoulders and began to unbutton his trousers. His fingers were slick with the lubricant that she now produced -- he knew that it was partially synthetic, but it was convincing enough to fool his acute senses. 

He took his burgeoning erection in a slippery hand and slid the swollen purple head through the slight valley that still remained around her vagina. He nudged in just far enough for her to feel it. Mycroft was endowed enough to cause the average woman some discomfort on first penetration… Andrea adored when he pounded himself into her tender cervix as hard as he could. And with zeta’s artificial tightness, this was going to be very rough on her. He noted Andrea moving around the periphery of his vision, situating herself where she could best see whatever aspect of the proceedings was of most interest to her.

Mycroft paused there, his hands resting lightly on Zeta’s tense hips, watching her fight to control herself before the coming humiliation. Andrea’s idea had been a true stroke of genius. He would have to remember to reward her for it later.

Zeta’s training and skills were good; he could see how she’d gotten as far as she did. To an ordinary person, she would have seemed like a statue. Mycroft was not ordinary, however, and he could read the suppressed terror and rage in the lines of her body and the micro-twitches of her muscles, in spite of the supposedly indifferent expression on her face.

He locked gazes with her. “So which of us do you put odds on for the psychological struggle, zeta?”

And for just a moment, he saw a ghost of a smile cross her face. It was a despairing smile, not a hopeful one, but it wasn’t quite what he expected, and he watched her decide to actually answer him honestly this time.

“I don’t rightly know,” she said tightly, and Mycroft grinned and thrust forward into her viselike heat.

The only sign of her distress was a hard swallow, but to Mycroft it was like a hand on his bollocks. It physically hurt to penetrate her, which was exactly how he preferred it. If it felt to him like having his shaft flayed, even as wet and engorged as she was, then how agonizing must it be to be on the receiving end of that invasion?

His fingers dug into her hips, anchoring himself to drive deep into her and hold himself there. She breathed through it but he could see that it was a genuine struggle.

“By the time that I dispose of you, you traitorous filth,  _ this _ will be stretched far beyond your body’s ability to recover. It’s another one of my paraphilias, I’m afraid. First perfecting your naturally beautiful body, and then ruining it, incrementally, with my own hands.” Her jaw tightened deliciously, motivating him to continue. “Your breasts as well. After I remove your nipples tomorrow -- I’ll leave the nullified areoles for a while, simply taking the mangled nub off at first -- they’ll be perfect again, merely altered, de-sexed. But there will still be plenty of sensation in your breast tissue, plenty of capacity for agony left even without your nipples. After that, I’ll take months to destroy the rest of your breasts, and I promise that you will feel it all. Your breasts, your genitals, your senses, all ruined and annihilated, step by calculated step, so you can fully appreciate the process.”

He could see Andrea hovering closer, wanting to take in the sight of zeta’s face as Mycroft explained her fate while violating her body. A fond smile touched the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were drinking in his victim, whose eyes were hard and mouth was twitching.

He gave a short thrust, closing his eyes for a blissful moment at the sensation of being buried deeply inside perhaps the tightest woman he’d had constructed for himself to date. She was as tight as alpha had been, and he thought he’d had the surgeons overdo a bit it that first time. His own masochism must have gotten more intense over the years, because now it felt  _ perfect _ .

And then, with his eyes closed, he felt it... 

Her  _ arousal _ . 

He stilled, sharpening all his senses. For a brief moment, he wasn’t entirely sure about the sign that had tipped him off, his analysis outrunning his sensory integration for a brief period before he absorbed the changing tilt of her hips beneath him. That was the first sign. Willing women always tilted their hips differently than unwilling women did.

He opened his eyes slowly, locked on hers. She had caught on, that he was catching on. The expected hatred burned there, for sure, the fury and rage and impotence, and the fear that many agents were very good -- but never good enough -- at hiding. But there was something else, and Mycroft saw it. Her lips parted, and he knew that she felt it too. 

Mycroft leaned forward, closer to her over the apex of their joined bodies. When he spoke now, his voice was low, hitched.

“Do you want to show me what a good girl you can be for me, zeta?”

It was part instinct, more Andrea’s style than his, but he had an idea…

She nodded, barely perceptibly.

Mycroft’s heart suddenly exploded with joy. He could have sang, if he had been the sort. 

Because she’d figured it out so quickly. The one thing that she had to offer him, that none of the others had managed. The only form of power that she had left, thin gossamer strand that it was.

His smile was languid now, nearly indulgent. “Show me, zeta. Show your new daddy what a good girl you can be.”

He didn’t think he was going to have to say it. Not with this one. She knew what he wanted.

She began to rock her hips, slowly, painfully, beneath the tight wedge of his hips against her pelvis.

Mycroft closed his eyes again, hands on her hipbones, as she rode him awkwardly. She was grimacing faintly -- it was too difficult a task for her not to -- but her eyes were hot. Her vise-tight vagina dragged on his shaft, and the friction was only bearable due to the copious slickness that continued to issue from her core. 

A reward. She certainly deserved a reward for this. He’d never gotten this from a victim before, not this effortlessly, and it was… sublime.

Mycroft came back to the room, though his body was racked with waves of pleasure from the heady awareness of her participating in her own rape in order to appease him. Her eyes were locked on his face, reading him, even as she began to lose the fight to stay impassive through her ordeal.

“I think it’s time that you learn that there are rewards in store for you as well, when you please me.” He stroked up her stomach to her breasts, began to play with her nipples like a lover would, soft tugs and pinches to the artificially engorged flesh. It was the last time that she’d feel touch like this in her life, and for that fact alone he enjoyed it. “Would you perhaps like a chance to earn these back for a few days? Don’t get me wrong, zeta, they’re going to go, and soon, but perhaps you’d like a few more days of suffering from them before I take them.”

Her voice was hoarse. “How?” She was still rocking her hips against his, enough that he knew that she was still working, still hurting herself for him.

“Let’s see… it’s quite difficult to make me orgasm through any form of intercourse. It takes dedication and effort. But I intend to rape you twice tonight, vaginally and anally, for Andrea’s pleasure, and you conveniently have two nipples. For each orgasm that you can coax from my body, you get to keep one nipple.” He heard Andrea gasp softly from somewhere off to his left, in appreciation.

Zeta’s breathing was shallower as she pumped herself against him. She was lifting her hips higher now, seeing how much friction she could cause with their joining. She was going to try it.

“Yes, Sir.” She jerked her hips harder, generating delicious, painful friction. Oh, this was going to hurt him too, especially if she was successful. He bit his lower lip slightly at the way that she addressed him, giving her a clue, if she was only smart enough to take it…

“Please, rape me, Daddy, rape me harder,” she began to beg, and Mycroft felt his bullocks pull up under him in sudden, fierce desire.

He leaned forward again, putting his back into it, slamming himself into her body with genuine violence now as she rose to meet him as eagerly as she could. He continued to play nicely with her nipples, aware that she could think about nothing other than whether she would still have them in twenty-four hours. It was clearly driving them both to a fever pitch, quickly.

“Yes, that’s a good girl, beg for it, Zeta. Daddy likes that.” Mycroft saw no point in hiding his deepest kinks from his playthings. None of them would ever live to expose him.

In this case, it was paying off  _ instantly _ . “Punish me with your cock, Daddy, please. Make me regret it all. Sew me up tight and then rape me open. Thank you, Daddy, thank you.” She had tears in her eyes as she said it.

Oh.

_ Oh. _ She was good.

Mycroft was stunned to discover that his body was signaling an oncoming orgasm.

“Harder, Daddy. Please rape me hard, make me pay. I want it to be so good for you.”

Mycroft pulled back and drilled into her anew. He removed one hand from her breast, focusing on her right nipple. “This one, right here. This is the one that you’re hoping to keep right now. Can you make me orgasm in order to keep this nipple, dear girl?”

He had to admit, he was impressed. Given the deprivation that she’d endured, she was making a fine show of it. The familiar, tightening feeling at the base of his spine and at the base of his erection was growing. 

“Please come in me, Daddy. Please fill me up with your come. I don’t care about my nipple, just give me your come.” It was a lie, but it was a good one, and it worked. Mycroft gasped as her words sent him over the edge, pistoning his hips deeply into her one last time before he froze, jerking inside of her as he spilled.

It was glorious, glorious, her surgically altered vagina spasming around him in pain as he painted her cervix with his seed. He allowed himself only a moment of aftermath, however, too excited by what lay ahead to pause for long, even for a refractory period.

Mycroft pulled out of her with an ultra-wet plop. His erection was softening now, and it would be a few minutes before he could penetrate her again. It wouldn’t actually be as painful for him as what he’d just done -- there was no good way to tighten up the anus like that -- but the issue of sphincters always presented its own set of challenges.

His smile was pleased as he played with her right nipple. “You know I’m still going to cauterize them both, though. Nullified, even if you keep them.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Her voice was actually calm, her eyes hooded but full of -- something complicated, now. 

“You don’t mind anymore?”

She managed something like a shrug. “It's what I’ve always wanted, isn’t it? And I deserve it.”

She didn’t mean that yet -- she was saying it because she was still trying to play him, by matching him in his own game in the way that no one else had tried. 

But she  _ would _ mean it. Soon.

Mycroft changed the incline of the cross slightly, putting her arse at a more convenient angle, and then thrust two digits deep into her second tight, wet passage.

“They can’t make you quite as tight for me back here, though the ubiquitous lubrication will be a great convenience for your new lifestyle,” Mycroft said conversationally, beginning to stretch her, just enough that he would be able to force his way into her in spite of the fact that this was going to be his second erection within twenty minutes.

She made herself rock back against his fingers. Oh, she was committed, he would give her that. And he had to admit that she was zeroing in on his kinks with an unerring speed and accuracy that none of her predecessors had managed.

“Please, stretch me open, Daddy,” she moaned, pushing back. He slipped his free hand over her ribs to her left nipple, reminding her of what was at stake.

“I’m going to need something better, Zeta,” Mycroft told her with a look of concern. “If I’m to get erect again this quickly, especially if you want to have a chance at making me orgasm again tonight, I need something more gratifying than just your arse.” He trailed off expectantly, leaving her the opening.

She took it. “Damage me. That’s what you like, isn’t it, Daddy? But you haven’t, really, yet. Isn’t it time?”

“Yes, good, Zeta. How should I damage you?” Mycroft forced a third finger into her arse with a frown of concentration.

“Begin the process, on my nipples, Daddy. Start nullifying me, now. I want you to do it, if it will make you hard enough to rape my arse. To fill me with your come again. Destroy me just a little bit to make me pay for the privilege of being raped by you.

Oh. She had a pretty turn of phrase, this one did. Mycroft barely turned, and he saw Andrea’s shadow at his side, so that when he held out his free hand she pressed the device that he wanted into it. 

It slipped into place neatly over his fingers, the cauterizing tip a thin screen that lay over his fingertip. He could turn it on and off, giving him the ability to come as close as possible to nullifying flesh with his own touch. He ran his fingers over her skin, letting her learn the sensation of the cauterizing screen against her flesh. She would learn to hate and crave that sensation.

“Will it hurt, Daddy?” Her eyes. Her eyes weren’t fully convincing -- she couldn’t quite get it. But she was close. Mycroft drew a breath in response to her artful prod.

“Yes, zeta, I had it designed to be as painful as possible in destroying nerve endings. It burns them out with electricity, at a rate that allows the process to take a considerable time if I want it to. You’ll see.”

He traced her nipple, smiling softly down at her as he turned on the cauterizer. 

He started at the edge of her areole, working his way in for about a square centimeter. Her eyes watered freely and she bit her lip, thighs tense, small sounds escaping her throat. Her arms and legs strained against their cuffs.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she ground out in a choked voice, and Mycroft’s erection responded instantly to her words, firming up considerably. “Don’t stop, don’t stop until you’re satisfied, Daddy. I want to make you happy.”

Christ. Mycroft felt high on taking his first small steps in the slow destruction of this woman before him. And her begging him to continue? Mycroft had to force himself to stop as scheduled. She was shaking from the pain, and he held his hand to the side and felt Andrea slip the device away.

She blinked tears from her lashes.

“Rape me again, Daddy.” 

Mycroft obliged her.

He was hard enough to penetrate her receptive arse immediately, and it was about now that she clearly decided that unleashing her reactions was her best strategy, because she mewled in utterly convincing pleasure as Mycroft plunged into her brutally. He preferred this way to the other -- more pain for them, more pleasure for him -- and he closed his eyes briefly as he sank into her, recording every second. A feeling of power-pain-pleasure flooded through him at this important symbolic moment.

When he opened his eyes and gazed down at her, she was blinking at the tears running freely down the sides of her face. Her mouth was open, but silent, and Mycroft began to pound into her with all of the repressed excitement of the past week of waiting for this. 

Andrea was even more brilliant than he realized. The first orgasm had taken the edge off… this second one was going to  _ hurt _ , was going to mellow him out. The next part would be so much better. His wife hadn’t only been pleasing herself, or sussing out a weakness of his new pet… she’d been benevolently manipulating Mycroft himself in a way that only she ever managed.

The waves of gratitude he felt toward Andrea only enhanced the sadistic joy of strapping this disgusting excuse for a human being down and raping her altered orifices. 

She looked up at him from under heavily lidded eyes, writhing on his cock. “I don’t have to convince you of this part, do I, Daddy? You can feel how much I love this, can’t you?” It was true. She was moving herself so convincingly, so hungrily, that it was hard to sustain the true spirit of rape. She smiled at him and whispered, “I’ve always preferred taking it this way, Daddy. It’s better when my pleasure doesn’t matter.”

Mycroft realized that he was going to orgasm again after all.

It was -- nearly -- impossible, at his age, twice within such a short span of time. And yet he knew that it was about to happen. He pushed hard against her thighs as he drove deep into her anus, his jaw firm against the onslaught of sensation sweeping his central nervous system. And orgasm he did, a second time, after which Mycroft took a moment to collect himself. His unfocused eyes were on the ceiling as he sorted through all of the input to his central processor and tried to decide whether he was pleased that she’d succeeded in the first task that he’d given her, one that he truly thought was… unlikely, given the circumstances.

He dropped his gaze to the body beneath him again, and found her watching him, a small smile upon her face. Mycroft ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth thoughtfully. He had to admit, he was a little surprised.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said softly, and he felt something strange.

He pulled free of her, running one hand through his hair and then tucking himself away and fastening his trousers. He turned and saw his wife, feet tucked up under her, completely absorbed. 

...


End file.
